Jason
by At A Venture
Summary: After all that has happened to Jason Stackhouse, he's a changed man. The only question is, will Sookie let him back in? E/S. Spoilers through Dead & Gone!
1. Prologue

**Jason**

_Prologue_

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_It was strange to see him sitting idle and every stranger to see him alone. Jason was always talking, drinking, flirting with women, working at his job, or working on his house; and if he wasn't with a woman, he nearly always had a male shadow---Hoyt (until he'd been preempted by Holly) or Mel. Contemplation and solitude were not states I associated with my brother. Watching him stare at the sky as I sipped my mug of coffee, I thought, _Jason's a widower now._ This was a strange new identity for Jason, a heavy one he might not be able to manage. He'd cared for Crystal more than she'd cared for him. That had been a new experience for Jason, too. _

Dead and Gone, p. 186 (no copyright infringement intended)

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	2. Chapter 1

**Jason**

_Chapter 1_

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_Jason_

I wasn't unhappy to see my great-grandfather, the fairy that never wanted to look at me, leave. It was one of the few things that made me remotely close to _happy_ since Crystal had announced she was pregnant. I guess I really hadn't been happy since then, even though I sometimes thought I was. I mean, I went out on dates. I had sex. I hung out with Mel and we built things and went hunting and did the sorts of things that always used to make me happy, but I hadn't been really and truly over the moon blissfully joyful since I'd heard about the baby.

I didn't really have parents for much of my life, and while I love Gran and Sookie, I don't think either of them had much of an influence on me growing up. I don't pretend to even think that I'd make a great parent. I mean, my heart was all for trying, but before everything that went down last week, I never thought I'd be the kind of dad that people really wanted. I was more like the cool uncle that nobody thought was cool after they turned ten years old. But I wanted to change that for my kid, my baby. Even after I hated Crystal for betraying me, even after I was so angry with her, I still wanted to be a part of my baby's life. I wanted to be there for it. I really wanted to make it work.

And then Crystal died and it was all over.

I'm not the type of guy that usually feels things. I don't have deep desires or huge wants or anything remotely resembling a goal. I just want to work and play and hang out and hunt and live. Sometimes I want to visit my sister and see if I can get a good meal, the way Gran used to feed me. I know how simple that all sounds now and it never used to matter to me before. It matters now. It really matters.

Sookie didn't want to see me after our fairy prince great-grandfather left, but I didn't want to leave her alone. I needed to stay with her, to be near her, to protect her from the crazy shit she'd mixed herself up in. I lingered around the house during the day, waiting for Crystal's body to be released, waiting for my sister to be well enough to get around on her own. I sat on the porch swing and stared at the cemetery where we'd buried Gran and our parents.

The sky was as grey and depressing and awful as I felt. I watched the clouds roll in and I tucked Gran's afghan around my shoulders to keep the wind out. The seat creaked and I made a mental note to put oil on the chains. I could hear movement in the house and I knew Sookie was awake. She pulled open the front door and pushed on the screen door to look at me. Wisps of her uncombed blond hair fell over her forehead and brushed her cheeks and nose. Her pretty blue eyes were cloudy from the pain I knew she was in, and her lips were chapped and dry. She'd been using a cane to limp around the house and I saw the rubber-tip of it poking over the threshold.

"You want some coffee?" she asked me, her voice slightly brittle. She'd barely spoken to me since Niall had left. I'd stopped asking her to forgive me. I'd stopped engaging her in any way.

"Yeah," I said. I got up and held the screen door so it wouldn't smack the door frame when it shut. I took the afghan off the swing and went inside. I locked the deadbolt behind me.

"Funeral's tomorrow?" Sookie asked. She was trying to reach up into the dish cabinet for a mug. I reached over her head and grabbed two. She stared at me as though my face and gone blue, but I knew she'd think I was acting strangely. I was acting strangely. Whatever I'd imagined about my life going back to normal, it wasn't going to happen. It just couldn't.

"Yeah," I nodded. Sookie sat down at the kitchen table. I wasn't sure what she put in her coffee so I set the cup in front of her along with the half-gallon of milk from the fridge, some sugar in a small ceramic bowl, and a spoon. I sat down across from her and poured myself a cup, black.

"I'll be there. Sam is picking me up." Sookie poured a few drops of milk into her coffee and one spoonful of sugar.

"If you're not feeling up to it," I frowned. I was glad she was coming, that she would come to my separated wife's funeral, but clearly the drinking of coffee was enough to wear her down.

"I said I was coming. I'm coming." She looked exasperated. It was as if the very act of speaking to me was enough to get her upset, agitated, and sick. I got up, finished the rest of my coffee, and washed the mug in the sink. I dried it and put it back on the shelf.

"Do you…" I paused. I didn't want to upset her more, but I couldn't just leave her here if she needed me. "Can I get you anything? Do you need me to take back some library books or get groceries?"

"No," Sookie shook her head. She wouldn't look at me.

"Okay. Well, just call me, if you need anything." I refilled her coffee cup and left. I walked back to my truck as rain drops splashed my face and shoulders. It was a chilly rain, and I hoped it would be just like this for the funeral.

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_Sookie _

There were too many things to deal with after everything that had happened. Amelia cried non-stop, it seemed like, and every time I saw her breeze through a room, she had tear-stained cheeks and watery eyes. I didn't know what to say to her, how to comfort her. I spent most of my time in bed anyway, staring at my window, trying to concentrate on a book. I hadn't gotten past the first sentence in two days. Beyond my window, the weather was gloomy and depressing. A storm was rolling in, just in time for Crystal's funeral. It would be a dreary ceremony, as awful as the girl it served to honor. I know that sounds bad, but I was in no mood to even try feeling bad for anyone but myself. I was at capacity for sympathy.

Jason had begun coming around. He lingered on the front porch, sitting in the swing, rocking back and forth as he stared straight ahead. Most days, I ignored him completely. I couldn't look at him. I wasn't ready to forgive him for all that he'd done to me, to our relationship. Sure, Jason was a different man after all that had happened to him, but until I saw a human being inside my brother, I wasn't going to bother with him one way or the other. He didn't care about anyone but himself, and I was just done with that.

I don't even know why I let him in the house on that drizzly Tuesday morning. He was sitting on that porch swing again, and I was hobbling through the house toward the kitchen. Eric brought me a cane to walk with, and even with it, movement was more than a chore. I felt like an old woman with two broken hips. It took a lot of effort to steer myself to the front door, pull it open, and stick my head out. The world sat on Jason's shoulders, and for a moment, a split second, I saw my big brother. He was watching over me again, protecting me from harm, a sibling who really cared about his little sister. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his blond hair was limp against his forehead. He had pulled a flannel jacket over a white tee shirt and ratty, holes-in-the-knees jeans. He didn't look like my cocky, full of himself, womanizing brother. He didn't look like anyone I'd ever seen before.

Maybe that was why I let him in.

"You want some coffee?" I asked in a gravely voice.

As soon as I let him in the house, I regretted it. Just seeing him made my skin feel greasy. I wanted him out as soon as he was inside the house. I was surprised when he took the coffee mugs off the shelf. I was even more shocked when he poured my coffee, brought me milk and sugar, and poured some for himself second. My brother didn't serve anyone. He was an entity unto himself, a god among men. Jason Stackhouse came first and that was how it had been for most of my life.

We talked about the funeral. My body ached. My mind ached even more. Talking to Jason was more than difficult. It was debilitating. Instantly, I wanted to go back to bed. I wanted to find myself in Eric's arms, or curled up in a bubbling hot tub, or anywhere at all but right here. Just as I was imagining hobbling back to bed, Jason got up. He took his coffee mug and washed it in the sink. He used soap and a sponge and really cleaned it. He even dried it and put it back in the cabinet. A sudden evil thought came into my head.

_I don't care how courteous you are now, Jason Stackhouse. You can't weasel your way back into my life and think all that stuff just doesn't matter!_

"Do you…" Jason asked me. "Can I get you anything? Do you need me to take back some library books or get groceries?"

"No," I said. I looked at the table. The paint was peeling free of it and I'd probably have to buy a new one. I couldn't refinish it, not like this. He mumbled something else, refilled my coffee cup, and left the house. I heard the screen door shut behind him. I listened to his truck start up in the rain. The gravel rumbled as he pulled back out of the driveway and left.


End file.
